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Sunday, October 21, 2007

My first thought about creating a food blog is me, what, really? What kind of credibility can I lend to this piece of web space? My stats: cooking experience consists of two years of apartment living as a student, many of those pithy meals not motivated by any desire to create quality sustenance but rather to satisfy my stomach cheaply and quickly so I could go about studying/socializing/doing whatever students do with their abundant amounts of free time. Add to that several experiments with my mother's KitchenAid back home, and you've got the extent of my culinary knowledge. On one hand, I think I should quit now and save myself embarrassment/shame/my face on a global scale, since apparently these things can be read by literally anyone. On the other…I know food is an undeniable passion of mine. I've pored over all my mother's cookbooks, time and time again, marking up several of them with "recipe to try" post-it notes and gradually learning cooking techniques in the process. I've sat in front of the television, mesmerized by the latest Food Network host's advice on how to best chop an onion without crying. This past summer I discovered food blogs, and my life—what I do with the majority of my time on the internet, anyway—is irrevocably changed. I've read entries that make my foodie heart want to sing, so well do they speak to the very inners of what I crave in food and life—a twist to the familiar (a recent example was cookie baked on TOP of brownie...a crownie...glory), a resistance to modern compromise (margarine—NEVER a substitute to butter. Ever. Unless you're a vegan.) The lyrical writings I've encountered that have staying power in my mind so aptly describe the power food holds over our lives. I know that I really do care about food, and that should be enough. The rest will come. And so I embark on this road, safe in the knowledge that my friend Lisa can gently kick me (or just delete my entries) if my writing starts to meander or become incoherent. And I am so eager to contribute something to this world, something that is outside the realm of psychology grant proposals and public health policy briefs. So here I am, one half of the loveiscooking duo, expecting that I will gradually learn what it means for love and cooking to be equated, wildly excited at the possibilities that this newfound knowledge can generate.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

i've always heard that good food requires love. and i've believed it's true. but it was today that i realized that perhaps the reason good food requires love is because good food is so much like love.

a couple of years ago i overheard two girls joking about how everyone needs to have a first boyfriend just so they can get rid of all their lofty ideals, get over themselves, and go on to have good, healthy, working relationships. now, i won't be giving my opinion on relationships here, but i think there's truth in that for food. everyone needs to try making their first quiche, their first stew, their first souffle-- just so they can experience it, failure or success. then we can all move on and be real human beings, aware of our shortcomings and our strengths, our passions and our pet peeves.

good food is like love because it requires patience. because it requires trying over and over again. because it requires us to not give up when we make a mistake. because it requires gracious recipients who will love us even when we fail. because it requires experimenting. because there's no recipe for it, no fail-proof method. because it requires hope. and mostly, because when done right, it produces joy.